Here's a
telegram that came about a half-hour ago. I thought it might be important."
Amy tore open the envelope.
"Why," she said to Haslam, "this was sent to-day from Philadelphia to me
at the Catskills, and my cousins have had it repeated back to me. And
look--it's signed by you."
"I surely didn't send it."
But there was the name beyond doubt, "Henry Haslam, M.D."
"This is a mystery to me, I assure you," reiterated the doctor.
"But not to me," cried Amy. "Read the message and you'll understand."
He read these words:
"Mr. Appleton is very ill. His life depends upon his will-power. He tells
me that you alone can say the word that will save him. Henry Haslam, M.D."
Haslam smiled.
"A clever invention to make you think he tried to execute his threat. Now
you know what he was doing while you were taking your handbag home. He
probably concocted the scheme on his journey. But why did he sign my name,
I wonder?"
She dropped her eyes and answered in a low tone:
"Because he knew that I would believe anything said by you."
"Would you believe that I love you still more than I did three years ago?"
"Yes; if it came from your own lips--not by telegraph.
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